


try this trick and spin it

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Gen, M/M, general weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: 'It still could’ve been nothing, just someone joking around or it could not even have been meant for him at all. Yet even before he touched the screen again to open the jpeg he knew that this was something terrible.'Or, that fic where Lewis is blackmailed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm generally not sure how I feel about this but I need it gone from my drafts! It was supposed to be more, erm, cracky I guess but turned out a bit dark and weird. 
> 
> Title from The Pixies - Where is my Mind.

The email arrived two weeks before the Australian Grand Prix, **I know your secret** the glaring subject header. Lewis frowned, his finger hovering over the little trashcan icon on the phone. Some bullshit scam more likely than not. He bit his lip, looking out the window at the spring afternoon. Monaco was always the most fun when the weather was good, long runs on the beach and endless sunshine that gleamed over everything and made even those few slightly unsavoury elements of living in a tax haven seem to fade away into insignificance. At his feet Roscoe whined insistently, which was a bit rich given that he was the laziest dog Lewis had ever met.

“We’ll go for your walk real soon buddy, I promise,” he placated, leaning down rub his fingers through the jowly rolls of fur that covered the bulldog’s head. When he looked back at his phone the screen had gone darker and he jabbed at it again to stop it from locking, and in doing so accidentally opened the email. Which was empty. He exited out of it with a frown, only to then notice the little paperclip icon at the side of the email.

The second time he scrolled down to the bottom, finding that there were several photos attached.

Something tightened in his chest at that moment inexplicably - it still could’ve been nothing, just someone joking around or it could not even have been meant for him at all. Yet even before he touched the screen again to open the jpeg he knew that this was something terrible. It lurched from his chest right down to his stomach and his hands shook as if he was in the middle of recovering from the worst fucking hangover in the world, or, or as if it was after one of those races where he used to punish himself for losing by not eating for days until he felt frighteningly weak. The apartment faded away from him for a moment as the file opened and he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard. There were seven pictures in total, a neat little storyboard sequence. He put the phone face down on the table, barely making it into the bathroom before he was retching up the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Roscoe trotted in behind him, curling up at his feet anxiously as Lewis coughed over the bowl, eyes watering.

Once he’d calmed down a little and had some tea and mindlessly played Call of Duty for a couple of hours and then finally remembered that Roscoe did need walking, it was quite late. And maybe it wasn’t that serious, he tried telling himself. There had been nothing else in the email, at least he thought there was nothing else, he hadn’t dared to look at it again in the hope that it might just go away. No demand for money - and wasn’t that normally what people wanted? But someone knew. And judging by the pictures, had known for a very fucking long time. The thoughts raced through his head as he pulled the duvet up around himself that night, Roscoe huffing and snoring at his side.

Sleep didn’t come very easily and when it finally did arrive was fitful and anxious, filled with a shadowy hooded figure waving a gun around who he’d eventually managed to escape from, breathing a sigh of relief only to open his front door to find a stack of copies of the Daily Mail with one of the photos from the email plastered across the cover below a typically salacious headline.

He rose before dawn, throwing some fruit into the blender and watching the pale milky light break over the Mediterranean. It all made him feel intolerably sad. Not just the knowledge that someone knew and was probably going to try and blackmail him out of fuck knows how much money, no, it was more than that.

He let his mind wander back to it as he tinkered around in the studio; everything was off though and when he played the track back his vocals sounded scratchy and tinny like a schoolkid trying to play at being a rapper. All the musicians and friends who’d encouraged him so vehemently were probably just playing along trying to appease him, he thought, bad mood sinking him. He willed himself to focus and produce something good, but he couldn't keep still, the pictures continuing to invade his mind.

It was the memory of that day, clear now even after having been pushed aside for so many years. He’d disregarded that part of his life – it had seemed necessary to do so if he was going to succeed in racing and beat his teammate to the title, although really he hadn’t had that much choice – but seeing actual photographic evidence of how happy he’d been, how young and stupid and blindly in love, was almost unbearable. As was the thought of the newspaper headline and the world viewing something that had meant everything to him like it was some filthy scandal.

He dropped his head into his hands and forced himself to take a few deep breaths, releasing them slowly as he reached the inevitable conclusion that he was going to have to talk to the other person in the photographs.

*

It was just past noon, the sun high in the sky pouring in through the full length windows, washing over the marble floors and making them seem to crackle and shimmer like burnt sugar. Lewis glanced at Nico, sitting on the sofa across from him gripping Lewis’ phone with a shaking hand.

“But, what the fuck do they want?” The German said, angrily. Lewis had prepared himself for Nico’s anger and had expected that it was going to be directed at him in the absence of the identity of the mystery sender.

“That’s the thing, man. I don’t even fucking know. There was just...nothing.” Quietly, he added, “I thought you might have had one too. An email I mean.”

That Nico hadn’t had an email meant that this person, whoever it was, didn’t give a shit about him and apparently was interested only in ruining Lewis’ life. However any hint of the pictures in the press would be catastrophic for both of them.

“It makes sense doesn’t it? You’re more high profile than me, you’re known in America. People over there think of F1 and they think of you, not me.”

“You’re the current Champion,” Lewis replied, somewhat petulantly. If Nico picked up on his tone he was clearly concerned with far more worrying things than to mention it.

They went over the email again together, pulling it up on Nico’s laptop on the coffee table and poring over it side by side, their thighs pressed close together. Once it would’ve been so natural, warmth passing between them, but now it felt entirely foreign and made Lewis’ whole body ache with a longing he’d tried to forget.

Closeness was an alien concept between the two of them now and yet having him so near like that, the breezy scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his skin made Lewis recall all the memories he’d buried. He glanced at Nico out of the corner of his eye, the faint stubble dusting his chin and the slight crinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there when the pictures were taken. It occurred to him that this was the closest they’d been to each other in months and possibly would be ever again. No more podium hugs or forced team promo photoshoots. Lewis wondered if he could maybe find some pride to swallow, make all this better, like it was back when the photos were taken.

The email address itself was fairly innocuous, a few jumbled together letters and numbers ending in a familiar @gmail.com, nothing to indicate the identity of the sender. They both just stared at it, at _themselves_ , completely at a loss. Lewis had hoped that Nico might’ve received the same email (although of course, he wouldn’t admit that) so that they could deal with it together. “Should I reply, d’you reckon?” he asked eventually when the silence became too much.

“No, no I think just leave it. They clearly want to freak you out. They must have been holding onto these for years, Lewis. If they were going to take them to the media then they’d have done it before now. Whoever it is will contact you again, I think.”

“Yeah, and then what am I meant to do?”

“We deal with it when that happens.”

The use of ‘we’ was like a breath of fresh air in the sapping warmth of the sunbeam. But then, Lewis told himself, of course it’d be ‘we’. Nico had just as much, if not more, to lose if this was ever to see the light of day.

Nico took one last look at the photos before closing the laptop lid emphatically.

“You know I’ll never forget that day,” he whispered, leaning back against the sofa cushions. Lewis shifted to one side, watching him. “I was so happy, it was so awesome and then you were there - just so unexpected. I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”

“I remember,” Lewis replied. He’d said some corny shit that day, he remembered. Stuff that sounded like it was from a film but that he’d meant every word of. How Nico was _his Champion_ and always would be. How amazing everything was going to be from then on, that they were going to make it all the way to the top, both of them together.

The Bahrain heat had been stifling, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. They had found a bottle of champagne from somewhere and drank it straight from the bottle in Nico’s hotel room, clothes discarded and the GP2 winner in Lewis’ arms.

“I still have your t-shirt somewhere,” Lewis said, suddenly, the images on the screen having brought it back to mind. He didn’t add that up until a couple of years ago he still used to wear it to bed sometimes, the red lettering on the front reading Nico - GP2 Champion 2005 brushing against his heart as he slept.

“You kept it?” Nico asked, surprised.

Lewis shrugged. “Like you said, it was a day I wanted to remember. Then.”

“I think it was the happiest day I’d ever had in my life up to that point.” Nico looked wistful for a moment. He glanced at Lewis and felt a sudden rush of memory searing through his mind; the two of them giggling, falling onto the bed so overcome with joy and victory and need for each other. He could see it so clearly even without the photos, Lewis naked beneath him, whimpering as he fucked into him, arching up from the bed and digging his heels into Nico’s back trying to get him to go deeper. Lewis tight around him, grasping him close for a kiss as they fell into the perfect rhythm, hands in his hair (pulling hard, the way Nico always liked), the feeling of being completely overwhelmingly in love.

“If they want money, I’ll give it to them,” Lewis said, studying Nico carefully. “I won’t let them make this into something bad.”

“Okay,” Nico replied, leaning closer to Lewis. For a second, Lewis almost forgot what year it was and found himself about to press his lips to the German’s. But then Nico, as if coming to the same realisation, drew back and just squeezed Lewis’ arm in a comforting but unemotional gesture. “Keep me updated, if you hear anything else I mean.”

“Yeah, course.”

“And good luck in Melbourne. I mean it, you know.”

“Thanks.” Lewis stood to leave, pocketing his phone. “I don’t know how the fuck I’ll be able to focus with this going on.”

“You will, and I’ll be watching,” Nico forced a smile.

Lewis couldn’t help but think as he left the apartment how this was the most personal conversation they’d had in a long time. It struck him as sad that it had taken something so fucked up to prompt it.

*

The days that followed that one passed by mercifully without incident. Lewis threw himself into his training and preparation for the new season and by the time his flight landed in Melbourne he'd almost convinced himself that it was all going to be fine. The email had slipped down his inbox and while his mind wandered to it a couple of times a day it was more often than not Nico that he thought of, rather than the horrific idea that he was in the process of being blackmailed. They could be friends again, he decided. They were adults and they could be friends even if he was still a little bit in love and a little in hate with Nico. He had started sending the occasional text to his former teammate since their meeting in Monaco. Generic ‘no news’ to begin with, followed by stuff like ‘how's the family… will you be watching on Sunday… weird here without you’. Then there was one incident the second night in Australia when he had a few ill-advised vodkas and opened the email again to stare at the pictures and sent ‘can’t stop thinkin about Bahrain. I fuckin hate you. I miss u. I miss us.’ in a WhatsApp message to Nico in the middle of the night. There hadn't been a reply, even though he could see it had been read.

He woke in the morning worried that he’d fucked everything up, but had then realised there hadn’t been much there to fuck up in the first place. They were still not exactly friends and also unlikely to be more than that at any point again in the future. Too much had changed.

Sunday couldn’t come soon enough and when it did finally dawn Lewis found himself feeling completely wired, focussed and pumped for it. He stood there with his earphones in, waiting for the track parade to begin. The weekend was going well for him, the weirdness of not having Nico around was dulled somewhat by their current predicament, which ironically seemed to have brought them closer again – something about sticking together in times of adversity maybe, he thought.

Nico had texted him the previous day before qualy, just a simple ‘maybe no news is good news’, although Lewis knew Nico better than to think he believed that. There would be more to this, repercussions.

He shuddered. Everything seemed to remind him of Nico now, or of the Nico of the past. It was hard to believe how many years it had been since they last shared a bed, an apartment, a life. At the point of Nico’s GP2 title they’d already been lovers for five years and Lewis’d had no reason to think they wouldn’t carry on into Formula One. Which they did, for a while.

He was starting to get antsy and just wanted to get in the fucking car so he could blot all of this out. It was the only release guaranteed to work. He became aware of someone at his side and looked round to realise he was being spoken to.

Pulling out one earbud he turned to face his fellow driver, who rolled his eyes and repeated what he’d said, accent thick and slightly scornful, the self-importance of youth filled with the egomania of driving the best cars in the world at the highest level.

“I take it you got my email.”

Lewis thought for a moment; no, he hadn’t and why would the young Dutchman have his email address, before it dawned on him. The email.

“You?” Lewis said, incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me!”

Max smiled, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly in a way that made Lewis’ blood boil. By this point they’d made it onto the float and were waving cheerfully to the crowds of adoring fans so Lewis couldn’t very well strangle him at the moment, which is what he was longing to do. The sun was shining in Lewis’ eyes and his stomach was a tight knot of anxiety because what the hell actually was all this and why; how could he even find out about it now and how could they race on the same damn piece of track.

“Why?” Lewis said under his breath, glaring at the Red Bull driver, “what the fuck do you want from me?” It couldn’t be money, surely.

“It’s quite simple,” Max replied, “you’re going to come out. Or I’ll do it for you, send the pictures to the media.”

Lewis felt like he was going to be sick, his hands tightened into clammy fists at his sides. Where was Nico, he needed Nico.

“You’re insane, man. I knew you were crazy on the track but this. Were you even fucking born when those pictures were taken? Where did you get them?”

Wave to the fans, smile, wave. It was a warm afternoon and Lewis felt dizzy with it all, willing this to just be a dream.

“My dad. He likes to have information about people. I found them in a drawer in his study and that’s when I had the idea. It’s nothing personal, Lewis. It’s just the right time for this to happen and I’m sure it’ll all work out fine for you.”

Lewis nodded in disbelief, trying to order his thoughts, voice a forced calm when he opened his mouth to speak. “I come out, or you out both of us, me and Nico?” Nico’s name caught in his throat and all he could think was how insane this was and oh God, Jos Verstappen was photographing him and Nico having sex in Bahrain twelve years ago; how was that even possible? He felt filthy with it, the eyes of the crowd on him turning sinister with the knowledge that creepy Jos had probably gotten himself off watching him and Nico. How had he even done it, was there more – a video?

“You won’t do it,” Lewis said, defiantly, almost laughing.

Max laughed a little, “okay then.”

Something occurred to Lewis then. “What’s in it for you,” he asked. “What do you get out of this, or is it just a bit of fun for you?”

“No, it isn’t fun. I’m not trying to mess up your life. I didn't plan it, but I saw the photos by accident and then the idea came to me. If you come out then it’s easier for me to. Someone has to be the first.”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes. And I don’t want to end up like you and him, so you come out and let the world get used to the idea and then we can come out. It works. You’ve got until Bahrain.”

He moved away then, leaving Lewis standing there numbly. It didn’t even occur to him until much later to wonder who the other party in ‘we’ might be.

*

“I know who it is,” Lewis spoke into his phone later, his skin still sticky with champagne and voice hoarse from giving interviews.

Nico walked out onto the balcony, looking out at the impressive vista of Monaco on a Sunday afternoon. It had felt strange, not bad but strange, watching the race rather than being part of it. He’d tried to ignore the little shiver of jealousy that had snaked through him at the sight of Lewis joking around (not flirting, why would he be flirting) with Sebastian. It was the damn photos stirring up all those old memories, nothing more. He hadn’t told Vivian, not about the email anyway, she was already more than aware of his past relationship with Lewis and in fact had encouraged him on more than one occasion to try and repair things. But she didn’t need to know about the email yet and part of him hoped optimistically that they’d be able to resolve the situation without needing to burden her with the knowledge.

“Who is it then?” Nico asked impatiently.

Lewis sighed. “I don’t think we should talk about it over the phone,” he said, causing Nico’s heart rate to leap with all kinds of wild thoughts of phone tapping and envelopes of cash delivered to surly looking men in parking lots. “I’m on the first flight tomorrow morning, I’ll come over as soon as I get home. Nico, I…” he paused. “I...oh God it doesn’t matter.”

Nico went back inside when he’d hung up the phone, lifting Alaïa into his arms and swinging her up in the air, her giggles filling the apartment, before cuddling her close and pressing his lips to her hair.

*

Lewis spent the flight staring down at the shapes and colours of the world far below before they gave way to an endless blanket of cotton-wool cloud. He tried to think but his head was all scrambled, and during the layover in Dubai all he could do was pace up and down the airport (no desert biking or hotel spas or anything remotely fun this time).

Restlessness gave way to a kind of exhausted calm by the time he boarded the second flight after hours of thinking through his options, lying back onto the bed and closing his eyes to think only of Nico, not of Max or even the photos or the terror of having his life pulled apart in public. He’d have to tell Nicole, he’d realised, it had hit him in the airport when he’d walked past a poster with her face flawlessly staring out and a spoonful of yoghurt in her hand.

His thoughts kept ricocheting endlessly from one extreme to the other. The absolute certainty that this couldn’t be made public was followed by complete indignation that anyone might have a problem with it, with him being himself.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being able to date a guy if he wanted to, not having to hide it. Not that there’d been any guys for ages, or women for that matter.

There was his dad though, really there were a lot of things, a lot of ways this could end him. But it had come to him somewhere above the South China Sea, he had no real choice other than to give in to Max’s demands. Did he?

*

Nico was laughing as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard in years. It was kind of off-putting. “He’s a child, Lewis, you can’t seriously be thinking of going along with this,” he said. “And will you stop pacing.”

Lewis held his arms up before sitting down dramatically on Nico’s sofa. “Fine, and I don't want to give in to him, not if I can help it, man. But that’s the thing, what can we do? I’ve been going over it the whole trip back and other than killing him I can’t think of a damn thing. If I don’t go along with it and we’re all over the internet, what happens then? We can’t go back from that. You think people are gonna remember you won a Championship after they’ve seen those pictures. They’ll remember a scandal, that’s it.”

“We’ll talk him out of it, intimidate him. I’ll…” he didn’t finish the sentence, though Lewis was pretty sure he was about to say ‘I’ll tell my dad’ before thinking better of it.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, coming out,” Lewis said quietly, resting his head on Nico’s shoulder for a moment (and when did they start to get comfortable in each other’s personal space again?). “I thought about it a lot on the plane.” The other side of the coin was that the alternative was even worse. If Nico was outed with him then any chance they had of growing close again was gone. Every single interaction they’d ever had would be raked through the press and speculated over, Nico’s daughter would hear about it in the school playground, it would never ever go away. This way at least he might salvage some sort of happiness for himself and some kind of relationship with Nico in turn.

And how bad could it be? His head was filled with wildly optimistic dreams about falling in love with the perfect man and not having to hide it. He tried not to think about how he’d already done the falling in love part. Nico didn’t belong to him anymore.

“You’re really sure about this,” Nico asked after they’d talked some more. The answer was no, Lewis was shit scared more than he was sure. But what else was there to do?

“I kind of feel sorry for him in a way,” Lewis admitted. “Growing up with that asshole as a dad. He probably has dirt on everyone in the paddock.”

“Hmm, yeah. Shit, I hate the thought of him still having those pictures though Lewis. How did he even know, and he must have had a camera in our room, what the hell.”

“I know, me too, I hate it. Who do you think it is, Nico?” Lewis asked after a pause, “Max’s boyfriend. Another driver?”

“Could be,” Nico replied. “Fuck this is such a mess.”

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Yeah I know. Fuck you’re right though, I can't let him do this, Nico, can I? Not like this. I don’t know how but it shouldn’t be like this. Even if I did tell the world I’m bi it should be to make things easier for me and I don’t know, for some kid in karts who’s scared of living in the closet all his life if he wants to make it in racing. Not just because Jos Verstappen’s a fucking perv. Shit.”

“We’ll think of something. There’s a couple of weeks till Bahrain,” Nico said with an optimism that Lewis felt was entirely for his benefit. What they were going to think of, Lewis didn’t know. He closed his eyes for a moment, pissed off by the headache that had been thickening above his right eye since he left Melbourne. A quick google search had revealed that it was almost impossible to make any sort of case against a blackmailer without it becoming public knowledge, unless you were being blackmailed for huge sums of money and even then it wasn’t so clear cut.

They sat for a moment, silent, each caught up in their thoughts - Lewis of what life would actually be like in the paddock if he did come out and Nico about how he could stop all this from happening. The stupid thing was that if he did actually tell his Dad then Keke would probably be able to find some way to cover all this up, with his connections. But there was something about telling him - it would taint what they’d had, him and Lewis. It had been the most important thing in Nico’s life for so long, aside from racing. Before Vivian, before life as it is now, there had been Lewis. And Lewis had been everything. He could barely even remember the beginning now, it was lost to vodka and animosity and time, only flickering briefly in his head; dry Italian heat and ice clinking against a glass, aching ribs from where he came off the track, laughter and heads spinning, _I’m soooo fucking drunk Nico_ , hands on skin and beds ruined, sticky sheets and endless straining pleasure as he bit down on his own fingers to stay quiet. So long ago.

“Do you realise this is the most we’ve spoken in months Nico, this last few weeks,” Lewis said, interrupting his thoughts.

Whose fault is that, Nico vaguely thought, and almost said, but he found he didn’t feel like provoking an argument.

Nico turned to him then, the setting sun in his hair, shadows cast over his face; and was that an echo of regret in those blue-green eyes? Lewis couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to kiss someone so badly, his heart felt like it was bleeding sadness at the thought of what they'd done to each other in recent years.

“I know,” Nico replied, leaning to him and pressing a delicate kiss to Lewis’ forehead, tracing a finger over his lips. “We’ll be okay,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Lewis, holding him tightly. Lewis closed his eyes and held on, feeling in his heart like he was fourteen again.

*

It came to Lewis in the middle of a restless night in China, going over and over it in his mind for the thousandth time - _let the world get used to the idea and then we can come out._ He’d find out who Max was screwing and threaten to expose him first, cancel out the threat. A week wasn’t a very long time though, and if it wasn’t someone within the paddock then it would probably be impossible, but something just gave Lewis the feeling that it was someone involved in the sport.

Friday dawned damp and miserable, umbrellas all around and the sky thick with angry grey cloud. He could barely focus on first practice and the car felt all wrong beneath him. Bottas topped the timesheets and Lewis looked at the data in surprise, mainly because he’d actually remembered for the first time in days that he had a teammate – and that that teammate wasn’t Nico. Towards the end of the day he made his way over to the Red Bull garage, cap down over his eyes and an indiscriminate waterproof jacket pulled around him (no sense in drawing unnecessary attention to himself).

Most of the drivers had left the track already, only mechanics and various team staff still finishing up or preparing to work on through the night if necessary. In his rookie year this was the time that Lewis always used to long for, rushing through his interviews towards the promise of a few stolen moments. Later they became a bit more sensible than to do anything at the track, but in the beginning the thrill of danger was too much of a turn on to ignore and the motorhomes, quiet rooms in the pit building and sometimes even the back of the garage had been the site of many scenes of passion. He’d always thought they’d been so careful not to get caught, but clearly not careful enough. He shivered.

There was no sign of Max anywhere. He hung around for a bit, called Nico to update him (though really there was nothing to say) and ended up instead chatting for half an hour just as if they were two friends catching up rather than ex-lovers facing a crisis. Max didn’t show and Lewis eventually gave up and headed back to his hotel room alone to a depressing dinner looking out at the neon lights of Shanghai, drenched in rain like a scene from some old movie. The optimism he’d felt that morning had deserted him, leaving in its wake an aching loneliness that permeated every cell in his body. He missed Nico. Missed him so deeply that it felt like nothing would ever make him feel right again. He lay awake in the king sized bed, the glaring light from his phone the only brightness in the room as he mindlessly half-watched Instagram stories and videos of dogs trying to get sticks through doors on YouTube. He'd give it another go tomorrow, he decided.  

The weather had improved by the next day. FP3, qualifying, it passed him by in a haze similar to how he felt when Nicole left him the second time. Lewis looked around a few times to find Max glaring in his direction but there was no time to talk and not much else to do about it.

In the evening Lewis approached it again, the sweep of the garages. He felt exhausted and strung out, useless in the face of it all. He didn't expect at this point to find what he was looking for. They held each other delicately, like lovers in the early stages of romance: adoration, kisses, pretty promises that could never ultimately be fulfilled. Max with his hands clutching the sides of Carlos’ face, kissing him, overalls and fireproofs peeled down low, flesh and desire and things that Lewis had spent half his life trying to forget. He watched them for a minute, grabbing at each other like teenagers. And fuck, Max still was one, Lewis realised. Then he came to his senses, pulling out his phone. Pictures snapped and video filmed and a dull empty sensation in Lewis’ stomach. Nico was all he could think of. All he wanted to relay. This was us, before we broke each other.

He looked at the pictures again that evening, irrationally guilty; this whole situation feeling more and more fucked up by the second, like he was the one in the wrong, which was just stupid. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again the sky was smeared with swathes of pink and crimson, the sun recently set; and the stuffed panda that a fan had given him had somehow made its way into his arms, like some inanimate replacement for Roscoe (or, comfort in place of that once offered by a lover). Maybe he was done with it all.

*

“If I do this it won’t be for you, just to be clear,” Lewis said the next day when Max approached him, some hours before the race. He hadn't yet disclosed what he had on Max but his phone felt like it was burning a hole in his jeans pocket. “And I want the photos, and the negatives. Nico is not involved in this, okay.”

Max shrugged, “if I give you the negatives you won't do it.”

Lewis wanted to hit him, it took a lot of self-control not to. He reached for his phone and brought up the images, thrusting it in Max’s face. “You're not the only one who can play this game, man. And you're not as clever or careful as you think.”

Max looked horrified, tables turned. “You won't…” he began, voice an octave higher.

“We both have something on each other now then don't we.”

Max knew he'd fucked up. It stretched out before him, more years of hiding. “Please don't show anyone this,” he urged, knowing he sounded whiny, begging.

Lewis smiled at him, relishing it a little bit. “I could say the same,” he said. “Don’t mess with me, you have no idea what you’re taking on.”

There wasn’t time to discuss it more, and Lewis walked away feeling better than he had in weeks.

 _It’s fixed,_ he texted Nico after the race, _but I think I’m gonna do it anyway._

He hadn’t been sure about it until then, until he’d seen the look in Max’s eyes, the same fear there that he’d always had about getting caught back in the old days. There was something empowering about the idea of saying fuck everything, this is who I am. Before he’d thought that this would remain a secret until long into retirement, and then when he met Nicole and had imagined them staying together he’d thought there was no point in revealing it to the world at all. He wondered what had changed and realised quite clearly that it was himself, and also the effect of no longer having Nico around. It was being confronted with what they once were and comparing it with what they had become. It was in the back of his mind that if he could truly be himself then maybe that would mean a better relationship with Nico, on every level. And it would be nice, not having to fuel the media gossip about him dating some eighteen year old model just to stop them from speculating on his sexuality.

“You’re completely sure?” Nico asked when he called.

“Yeah I think I am. Not, you know, right away, gotta concentrate on not letting the red cars get too far ahead,” Lewis smiled into the phone, “but, end of the season maybe. No hurry, now. Just, I like a challenge you know.”

Nico thought about how they were probably the biggest challenge of each other’s lives, but it seemed too much like opening up a huge can of worms to say actually say it. “You’re coming home in a week?” he asked instead.

“Yeah, um, after Bahrain, yes.”

“Dinner?” Nico asked, wondering what the hell he was getting into here.

“Dinner would be great.”

“I’ll take you to Maya Bay,” Nico said, mischief in his voice.

Lewis laughed. “You could maybe pick somewhere that isn’t in the building we already live in.”

Nico took a deep breath, gripping the phone tightly. “Not so far to go that way, if you wanted to come up for coffee after,” he whispered.

Lewis absent-mindedly pressed the heel of his hand against his dick at the intonation in Nico’s voice, the invitation there. “I’d like that a lot,” he replied, ending the call.

There was another race to prepare for first though, and also something he had to do over at Red Bull. The moment that Lewis’ fist connected with Jos Verstappen’s jaw, knocking the older man to the floor, felt like one of the most satisfying victories of his life.

  
  



End file.
